Was is Honour
by Molygon
Summary: War is honour. A look at Hals beginning and his maker. HalxOc "I offer you eternal life for a bloodlust that will consume you. You will be a soulless creature but you will have life." It was a small, tiny movement but it was unmistakable.   He nodded yes.
1. Time to wage war

AN: hello everybody :D this is my first being human Fanfic and I have to admit I had a blast writing it. The new series is just AH! Love it! I thought it would be weird without Mitchell (R.I.P) but they've made it wonderful again.

The character of Hal is completely amazing, he fills the vampire role of the house but in a way that has no impact in the slightest on Mitchell's memory. This idea has been knocking around my head for weeks and I needed to commit it to paper, yes this is Oc but not very Mary sue (I don't go round killing people I'll have you know :)

This story is set in the Battle of Orsha, which is where Hal is turned into a vampire as said in the BBC prequel they made when he met Leo. Which i implore you to watch on youtube, just search for Hal's prequel.

Warning for blood and fear and war. T for terror :P

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><p><span>Hal: 1514<span>

War is honour. It's fighting for what you believed in, being scarred for what you believed in and dying for what you believed in. War is the sound of marching feet, the flash of proudly waving flags and the smell of roasted food, hot metal and the sweet coy tang of blood. It's victory and loss, a fire in your veins and cry of inhumane joy that burns on the edge of your tongue, ready to be set loose into the cold biting air.

God, how I wanted to laugh at the idiocy.

_Honour?_ What honour do I have and what belief anchors me to this world? War is for fools yet here I am dying like one. It felt ridiculously unfair.

Hot blood rushed to my mouth as I choked, not sweet but bitter and disgusting. I tried to breathe but pain stabbed through me and I could feel my lungs tearing-oh god, the pain, the pain. I'd never felt something so consuming and burning, I wanted to scream but I knew that would only make it worse.

I tried to move, my hand danced around the wound on my body and I gasped when my fingers touched the edge of the slice. The lance had pierced my side: breaking through rib and lung and forcing me down to the cold mud and grass.

Damn muscovite.

I pulled my head up to try and look at the wound but the shift in weight was too much for my body and I screamed a gurgling scream. It was more blood than sound. The act of screaming only increased the pain and I collapsed back on the snow with tears in my eyes and coppery blood on my lips.

I was going to die, painfully. Far from home, alone in the cold. I was not afraid of dying; I had no one to leave behind and I had no difficulty seeing the worst of humanity and the world. I only felt that perhaps I could have spent more time trying to find something good.

A sort of cold numbness has started to spread from my toes and the tips of my hands, a beautiful kind of lethargy, like the kind when you don't want to wake up or leave your bed. The snow around me bit at my body and soaked up my crimson life.

The sound of war hummed around me but somehow I made out the individual sound of determined footsteps growing closer. The crunch of softly padded shoes against the icy snow made me open my eyes. At first all I could see was the grey sky above and the circling carrion crows but a person was suddenly standing tall above me. There body was in strange proportions from my view point on the ground.

The person knelt until they were level with me, a hand flew to the wound in my side and I whimpered pathetically as the pain returned in strength. I focused on the clothes they were wearing and recognised the dress of an army surgeon. I looked on the face of the surgeon, he had light shocking blue eyes and short cropped raven hair. His face was rough and covered below the eyes with a thick woollen scarf. Three thin scars traced across what I could see of his face, still fresh and ropey. They pulled at his eyebrows and nose and reminded me of a wolf or a dog's claw marks.

"You are not long for this world my friend." The surgeon murmured as he glanced at my body. His voice was high and soft.

"Damn muscovite." I murmured, blood bubbling on my lips. I watched as his eyes flickered to my lips, a strange intensity about them.

I closed my eyes as another wave of lethargy washed over me, I wanted to sleep and fall away. I heard his voice, soft and fluid like a waterfall singing around my ears but I could not determine the words he spoke.

A hand pushed against the wound in my side and I gasped again, my eyes flickered open in startled pain. What was the surgeon doing and why hadn't he left?

"Listen to me!" the man's voice demanded, rising in pitch. "Do you value your soul, friend? Because I can offer you salvation."

"How?" I mouthed at him, no sound passing through my lips.

He considered his words for a moment before resting a small hand upon my chest.

"I offer you eternal life for a blood lust that will consume you. You will be a soulless creature but you will have life." The man spoke slowly as he weighed his words. He glanced upward before focusing his blue eyes upon my face. "You must choose quickly, you are passing."

Eternal damnation for more time? What was my soul but a twisted broken thing? I could feel the cold in my body again and the urge to close my eyes grew with each passing second. The man's face was blurring and panic crashed through me as darkness started to fall around the edges of my vision.

With a last push of will, I nodded my head feebly. I saw him blurrily lean over me and he pulled at my collar and neck until the cold air touched my exposed skin. Warm breath ghosted over the skin for a fraction of a second before I felt the crushing strength of teeth pulling at my throat.

Instantly, the lethargy lifted and I gasped as the world came into focus and pain blossomed at my throat. The surgeon bit and bit and bit, licking and biting and sucking. I tried to scream but his teeth had crushed my voice, I writhed and twisted under his grasp but his hands had pinned my shoulders and a heavy knee rested on my stomach below my wound. After half a minute of struggling the surgeon moved away.

Blood covered his lips and chin; he'd pulled down his scarf. His eyes burned black but with a blink they passed back to their blue colour. I had never felt more terrified in my life, was this what I was destined to become?

The surgeon suddenly bit into his own wrist, tearing until blood flowed down his arm and hand. He raised his hand before I could move away he forced the blood on my lips. Coppery and cold, I managed to taste his blood among my own.

Almost instantly the pain in my neck and in my side started to disappear and was replaced by an itching feeling as I physically felt the wounds closing over. Some kind of magic was healing me and piecing me back together.

"Once your wounds heal, you will die from cold. After some time you will wake, I will be here" the surgeon said but his voice had changed, no longer deep it was higher and...

_Feminine?_

He wiped away the blood with his scarf and I gaped in surprise as my suspicions were confirmed.

Without the scarf and the blood covering his face it became blindingly obvious that he was not a he. The surgeon was a woman.

The bulky clothes of the army had hidden her form and the scarf and closely cropped hair would have convinced those who did not look closely. She smiled down at me, one of the three scars across her face pulling at the edge of her lips.

Before I could say a single word I felt the last of the wounds heal over until they felt like day old injuries. The same kind of cold started washing through me, soothing the fire of the injuries and making me feel sleepy.

I could not fight the cold; it was gripping me with a strength that was irresistible and irrefutable. Darkness ate at the edges of my vision, but I focused on the woman.

There was no denying she was beautiful, in a rough honest way. With no blood upon her lips and the mud from her face she would be stunning. Her eyes were so alive and her smile was snow white.

"What's your name?" I asked, sleepily, my voice slurred.

"My name is Alena." she said, smiling again. "You?"

"Harry or Hal." I whispered. I was nearly gone.

My sight was almost completely faded and the world sounded quieter, but I could just about sense her leaning over me. I thought she meant to bite me again but instead of warm air spilling across my neck, I felt her breath drift across my face.

The cold settled over my body and the world fell into darkness but I could still feel the burning pressure of her lips pressed against mine.

And that is how I died. With an ice cold venom in my veins and burning kiss upon my bloody lips.

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><p>I woke to the sound of nothing; the absence of sound was something I had grown unaccustomed to.<p>

To my left and my right I was surrounded by the deceased. The battle had moved on or finished while I slept. While I died.

I cast my eye around expecting to find the surgeon, the mysterious woman Alena who had given me life.

I was alone.

Stumbling upright, I looked further afield but I saw no sight of her. Perhaps she had been killed? My stomach clenched at the idea. I needed to find her.

I suddenly heard a moan, full of pain, only a few meters away and I turned my head. A dying soldier lay, choking and gasping, he'd been left behind to die alone. There was a massive wound in his side, similar to mine. The snow was stained with his blood.

His _blood_.

I had never smelt something so sweet and so appealing in my life. A fire burned with in my entire body at the sight and smell of it. I shifted without thinking until I was crouched over the man, I snarled and hissed like a demon and my eyes changed until I could see every detail of his body, his face. His fear.

He said something, a prayer perhaps, but I cut him off before he could finish. My teeth sank into his throat with a beautiful purpose, cutting through skin and flesh and muscle until his hot blood filled my mouth.

The taste of blood, which had been so disgusting before, now tasted so delicious and so _right_. I was meant to do this. I drank and drank like a man dying of thirst and with every mouthful a beautiful soothing warmth filled my body.

The man beneath me shook and trembled and fought and it only made the victory feel better. I was playing God and I grinned against his neck as his efforts grew weaker. He stopped moving as I drank the last of his blood.

I drew away from the body in vague disgust; the burn in my body, in my throat had come back full force after I was finished. This bloodlust had not been sated.

I need to find more blood. More prey.

I had a purpose, I had something to find and to fight for and I could feel a belief on the edge of my tongue. The belief in this life of being a monster, of playing God over the humanity that had ruining my life. The world had only shown me misery and pain, now it was time to fight fire with fire, pain with pain and blood with blood.

I had a belief, I had an enemy and I did not want or need honour.

It was time to wage war.

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><p>Hope there's no mistakes and that my Hal PoV was okay. If im honest, im not sure if im going to complete this story or complete it sometime soon, I have a fuck load of exams coming in June and May which kinda decide my life a tad (damn GCSEs)<p>

Review if you want to, it would be nice to hear your opinions, good or bad ;)


	2. The Damned Crucifix

AN: hello back again. God I loved the last episode, Alex and Alison were such great characters. Tom saying goodbye to Alison tore me to shreds :'( I guess it was all for the best but I hope they include her in the future again.

This is the same story but from her perspective. Im planning on writing this story by seesawing from PoV to PoV at different times in the medieval ages. Ive started doing some major research (my history teacher would be proud) on the time frame so hopefully everything should be reasonably accurate.

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><p><span>Alena: 1514<span>

I was hidden, far in the thicket, away from the Lithuanians and the Muscovites who were far too busy hacking themselves to pieces to notice me anyway. I had donned the clothes of the army surgeon who had died beneath my teeth before a stab wound could take him.

The battle had been waging for over two days but I had only just arrived, the dead littered the ground or had been taken away. The flags and sounds of metal against metal burned in the winter air and I shivered slightly despite my warm clothes. The battle had swept by close to where I was hiding but had moved on again, leaving some dead, and hopefully, some dying.

It had taken weeks of gossip gathering and self control to get my way here, the rise in Witch and Vampire hunting had made it very difficult to stay in one place without gaining suspicion. This idiotic war of theirs was the perfect place for me; here I could act without being noticed.

The lost and the dying would be my prey; I would only kill those destined for death and save them a little time. At least this way I wasn't a murderer - no - the only murderer here was their misguided sense of honour and the brutality of human nature.

Staying dry had become increasingly difficult and over the last few months I could feel my control slipping and slipping. I didn't want to be a monster; I didn't want to be the demon they thought me to be but every passing second brought me closer to killing. The other vampires I had met mocked me and my ways but I couldn't kill again, I was clutching at the shreds of my humanity but it was better than discarding it completely.

I climbed down from my vantage point in the trees and moved over to the edge of the battle, snow and leaves crunched under my feet and the sweet tang of blood burned closer and closer in my nose. I wanted to run out but I held myself back, it would not be wise to overreact.

The thick wool of the scarf itched at my face and I grimaced at the feel of it, I wanted to pull it off but I would be recognised as a woman and turned away from the battle, or worse: the men would try and take me as a victory of their idiotic war. The rough closely cropped hair on my head was also a necessary irritation; I liked my hair long and flowing.

At least the scars on my face would hide me from most suspicion. I should have thanked that damn werewolf before I ripped his throat out. Their wounds always took time to heal and I would probably be left with permanent scars of the damn fight.

I moved into the battle drawing a dagger, encase anyone got too close. I started scouting for prey, ignoring the blood around me by focusing on the fact that soon I would be feeding. I could feel my mouth watering.

A gurgled pain filled scream suddenly reached my ears. Far to my right I could see the figure lying in the snow. The man's blood pooled into the crisp whiteness of it all and I found myself moving with fresh determination.

He lay with a giant wound in his side where a spear or a lance had forced him down. The man was choking and gasping in pain. I rested a hand over the wound, felt the hot rich blood pool beneath my fingertips. I looked him in the eye and I saw a flash of recognition as he looked over my clothes.

He thought I was a surgeon. I almost wanted to laugh at the irony.

"You are not long for this world my friend." I said in a deeper voice, trying to mask the fact I was a woman.

He was young, I realised, only twenty or so and surprisingly he wasn't scared.

He wasn't panicking or crying from fear but was resigned and calm. The man closed his eyes and I could see his body relaxing, waiting for death. He wasn't reaching for the end but neither was he turning away. Something about him made me hesitate, you could tell a lot about someone as they died and I was intrigued.

"Damn muscovite." He murmured weakly, blood bubbled on his lips and I couldn't help but focus on the rich crimson colour. The scent of his blood was strong but I felt the need to hold myself back.

This man had seen the world with unclouded eyes, for someone so young he seamed aged. In one flash of a moment I made up my mind, I had never attempted creating but somehow the man I knelt next to felt worthy. If he accepted.

"Do you value your soul my friend?" I said loudly, trying to rouse him before he passed. He sighed and relaxed even further and I panicked, I felt like I had to offer him a chance. I reached out and pushed against the wound in his side until the blood flowed again and I could feel the creaking of his fractured ribs.

He gasped in shock and whimpered, his eyes flew open and he focused on me in confusion. I almost apologised.

"Listen to me!" I commanded harshly, trying to fix his waning attention. "Do you value your soul, friend? Because I can offer you salvation."

He mouthed a word at me: How?

I considered the words I had to use, I had to be honest but I had to be brief, he was very close to death. I could hear it in the way he breathed.

"I offer you eternal life for a bloodlust that will consume you. You will be a soulless creature but you will have life." I glanced around me carefully; it was unwise to be unaware of my surroundings when I was spending so long talking to someone. "You must choose quickly, you are passing."

I watched as he considered my words, his eyes started to go out of focus and a look of panic crossed his face. It was a small, tiny movement, but it was unmistakable.

He nodded yes.

I leant over him and pulled at the fabric around his throat until his pale creamy skin was open to the air, it was so smooth and so white that I hesitated for a moment, then clamping my jaws down on his gullet. His blood filled my mouth and hit my tongue, I hadn't fed in over three months and the taste of his blood was so satisfying that I found myself biting and biting again. My control started to fade as he struggled and I pinned him down with my hands and a knee.

His hand slapped feebly against my knee on his stomach and I realised I was killing him. Disgust turned the taste of his blood thin and I pulled away with a scowl pulling at my lips, I'd come so close to killing.

Again.

I bit into my own wrist quickly, trying to force myself away from the taste of his blood. The dull taste of my dead blood in comparison to his made me gag and I winced from the pain of my self inflicted bite. I pressed my bloody hand and wrist to his lips and watched as he struggled and then tasted my blood.

I sat back on my heels and watched him as the change started to come over him. The wounds in his neck and side started to stitch themselves back together and a look of surprise covered his face.

"Once your wounds heal, you will die from the cold. After some time you will wake, I will be here." I said quickly, I dropped the forced male accent and reached for my scarf.

He looked up in me in confusion and sheer shock as I washed away his blood from my face. His mouth gaped open and I couldn't help but grin at his expression.

He looked as if he was about to say something when that last of the wounds closed over. The coldness would soon be seeping in.

He started to die again. He fixed his eyes on my face with a desperation that surprised me.

"What's your name?" he asked sleepily, his voice slurred slightly as if he was drunk.

"My name is Alena." I said smiling again in an attempt to reassure him. "You?'

"Harry or Hal." He said in a whisper so faint I had to concentrate to hear him.

He was very close to passing, his eyes were half -lidded and he was relaxing into the snow and ice.

Impulsively I leant over him and pressed my lips against his blood stained ones, the cold of his lips and the heat of mine fought against the combined taste of each others blood. He stilled beneath me. Then died.

I pulled away from his body and stood in shock, I hadn't kissed a man in decades. With a shake of my head I tried to banish the cold memory of his lips. I needed to focus on getting away from the battle.

I would have to drag him away from the battlefield and when he woke I would explain everything. Who I was, what we were and what we could do. This felt like the start of something, some kind of twist of fate. I smiled into cold wind and let my breath steam in the air.

"Go foul demon! Leave this place and the souls who rest here!" an voice behind me boomed.

_Shit._

I whipped around and faced the voice; it belonged to an old man dressed in the priests' garb. Behind him stood five soldiers who gaped at me in surprise and disgust. I realised my throat was still stained with blood, my lips ruby red from the kiss I had just given Hal.

The five soldiers bristled when I reached for the dagger at my hip, it could take down all of them but at what price? Three of them had swords by their hands and two had long spears. The priest no doubt had a crucifix hidden somewhere.

"I will leave in peace if you let me take the body." I said carefully. I could not leave him here.

There eyes flickered down to the body and one of the soldiers yelled in horror, clearly recognising Hal. Maybe he was a friend.

He leapt forward, his sword swinging but I moved in blur, ducking the strike and forcing the dagger up in a smooth motion but such strength and speed that I felt it tear all the way through him. He fell to the ground gasping in pain.

The priest instantly drew, deep from within his clothes, a golden crucifix and my eyes stung from the sight. I staggered away in pain and tried to grab Hal's body but a fist swung from no where and I fell to the ground. I instantly panicked, everything was going wrong and if I wasn't there when Hal woke-

I saw a flash of gold before the crucifix smashed into my temple and world fell black.

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><p>Bit of a filler, im Sorry. How do you guys like the character of Alena?<p>

Please review and leave your thoughts, even if their negative. It may be some tim before I update because my computer is being a twat, I've written most of this on my iPod :/


	3. Nightmares and Memories

AN: Hello guys im so happy with the hits and alerts ive gotten from everyone. Id love to give a big thank you to everyone who alerted and added a favourite to this story, you've given me more incentive to keep working (who really gives a damn about GCSEs? I don't need to revise ;) ). That is: brittbbe, DayaLuna, Lady SiriusCrowBlack, spazzlepadazzle, The 11th Doctor's Mermaid Sam, werewolfsoldiergirl, Xanthabel, CraxyPenguin02 and Silverfox113.

Feel free to drop a review perhaps and give your valued opinions. Thnx to werewolfsoldiergirl for giving the first review :)

This chapter has a bit more of Alena's past in it, hope you enjoy. I'm waiting to find a bit more of Hal's past in the next couple of episodes before writing anything too defining.

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><p><span>Alena: The winter of 1438. England, Cornwall.<span>

They had come as visitors, welcomed with glee; the village had admired their fine but simple clothes and gentle manners. They claimed to be brothers (in blood and religion) from London here to spread Gods word.

The first to disappear was our own priest, a young man, fresh from the clergy. His body was never found, at the time we believed he had left or run away.

I knew better.

My mother and I both knew better. We were the village's cunning women and folk, we served as midwifes and carers of the people. Healers and workers of the energy of life, the magic of life; we had become accepted by the people in the last fifteen winters. The village flourished under our hands and we took a great pride in its life and they took pride in us. No famine had ever touched its crops, no illness had ever scarred its people, even the worst storms and winters never really affected its people or their live stock thanks to us.

We could not protect them from these… _Monsters._ Nor could we strike directly, not without the backing of the people of our village.

They became deeply interested in us, my mother and I. They tried to kidnap me and my mother away. We fought them off with stakes and a blend of holy water, garlic and the blood of a young man afflicted the monthly calling of the moon.

One by one more people disappeared and the village folk stared to become suspicious. Before the priests could be expelled the plague hit the village for the first time since out arrival.

My mother and I had set up intricate wards and protection along the village. We were completely baffled. The people contaminated were isolated and the disappearances were put aside.

Over time rumours started to spread, to grow in the darkness of the simple villagers hearts like a foul mould.

_Were going to die-_

_It the work of the devil-_

_Those witches are spreading the disease-_

_They let down the wards-_

_Their black magic isn't working-_

_They have worked with the devil the whole time-_

_The brothers will help us-_

_**They will free us from the witches.**_

A mob had formed; the people we had loved were ready to murder us for the words of the strangers.

I knelt in the cold mud, felt it strain my dress and damp my knees. I could only watch in mute horror as they set about preparing our execution. According to the brothers the fire would cleanse our souls.

The flames licked and pulled at her clothes with unconcealed glee as she screamed and begged and cried in agony. What kind of God would wish for this kind of death upon anyone? What kind of good would come from this? I could only scream and cry, the gag that bound my lips soaked up my salt tears.

"I love you my daughter, I love you!" she cried across the gathering, coughing from the smoke. Her eye locked on mine before she let loose another agonising scream.

Desperately I reached for my magic; the thin web of life that had stretched and grew across the village had shattered in their hatred. We were without our familiars but there was always our original magic.

I pulled the energy from my veins, my heart, every inch of my soul and mind and pushed at the fire. For a few wonderful seconds the flames abated, dimmed and her screams stopped. A wave of even stronger magic pushed back against mine and broke it to pieces; the flames grew again and crackled with intensity.

"We chose well brother, her magic is strong." The demon at my side cackled with glee and icy horror rose in my throat like bile. The Vampires were Wizards!

The other one leant in close and whispered into the shell of my ear. "Tell me sweet thing, do you value your soul?"

He paused and his hot breath ghosted along my neck, it smelt like blood. He laughed a breathless excited laugh. "It does not matter."

He lunged for my throat.

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><p><span>Alena: 1514<span>

I woke with an incredible start, flinging the covers off the bed and gasping in shock. My hand flew to my neck where the faint scars were still traceable. When I had finally killed Dmitri he had set the nightmares upon me as a curse. He still haunted me every night, despite being removed from my presence for nearly seven decades. I was nineteen when they had taken my soul, making me nearly 96 by my counting.

It was only after I had died that I learned their reason for visiting the village. My mother's and my blood was a way for the two brothers to renew their own magic ability; they had come to the village after word of two witches had reached them in London. With my blood they had strengthened their own magic and drained me of my own abilities. I had briefly considered killing witches to regain my own magic but I was unwilling to kill what was once my kin.

My thoughts wondered back to the village and its people. After awaking in my new form I had slaughtered each and every one of them. I spent the next few years running from the brothers and hunting down the ones who had escaped.

I still mourned for my mother from time to time but life had taken its course and I never had the time t truly lament her passing. I didn't even have the chance to burry her.

I shivered from the cold and froze in horror.

I was in a linen nightgown and my short hair had been swept loose. My skin was still rough and muddy though my hands had been cleaned.

And I did not remember how I got here.

My memories could supply me with no information, I cast my mind back but all I could remember was travelling toward the site of what would soon be a battle. I swung my head around to look at the room and my head pounded with pain, a small bump and a raised scar rested over my right temple. The wound worried me even further, I could not remember receiving it; perhaps it had messed with my head? Horror flooded through me as I remembered a young boy in the village where I used to live; with one strike of the head he had lost most of his memories for over a year.

I started to panic but remembered that my hair was still short and the werewolf scars on my face were still fresh, so couldn't have lost a few days memories, a week at most.

The room was small with no windows and a small candle. A side of the room had been hidden with a thick curtain, behind which a door was surely concealed.

I slipped of the bed they had placed and winced as my feet touched the ground. It burned under the souls of my feet in strange way and I realised I was standing on holy ground. It must be very strongly blessed ground to affect a vampire like me.

What the hell was I doing on holy ground? Unease made me hesitate for a second.

I hobbled over to the curtain, wincing as my feet itched and burned. The fabric was velvety and thick between my hands and I paused to consider what could be behind the curtain.

With a sweep, I pulled back the curtain, making sure not to rip it of the wall.

Blinding agony ripped through my body as my eyes fell across the giant crucifix that hung over a door, it was simple and undecorated but it stood at my height at least, if not taller.

I gasped and cast my eyes downward, trying to ease the pain; spots danced before my eyes and I felt my knees go weak. I stumbled back ward and fell back on the small bed. Twisting around, I faced the wall opposite the cross but I could still feel it burning my back, like the hot summer sun.

My heart pounded as if I'd run for miles and I clenched my teeth in a vain attempt to contain the pain on my back. After some time my heart started to slow and the burn started to recede.

My feet touched the floor again and I hobbled off the bed, the floor burned under me with fresh intensity. I moved toward the cross, my eyes solely fixed on the stone floors. Every inch I shifted closer made my blood boil and my heart pound and pound. Time slowed until it wasn't measure in seconds or minutes but rather the tiny movement of my muscles and the agony of the holy cross that increased with every shuffling baby step.

With a savage leap I tore the curtain across the gap and heaved a sigh of relief as the pain faded.

I collapsed back on the bed, breathing heavily; even with the curtain across it I could still feel the crucifix buzzing against my sense like a headache or sore tooth. I considered pulling the fabric off the rails and covering the giant cross while I tried to open the door but I couldn't guarantee that it would protect me from the full affects or that the door wouldn't be locked. Fear settled in as I really looked at my situation: I was trapped in a strange cell in monastry or a church and I had no way of escape. Breathing deeply to calm myself, I tried to consider a course of action.

I closed my eyes and tried to push away the angry buzz, I need to try and remember.

Delving back into my memories still revealed nothing; the last thing I could remember was hiking through the forest near the battle. After that there was-

Nothing. No- there was something, it hung in the back of my mind on the tip of my tongue-

Of course! The army surgeon! I'd found him in the forest desperately trying to patch together a dying soldier, his blood had draw me like a hungry wolf.

After draining both of them I had donned his clothes and cut my hair shorter and shorter with the dagger in his side. I had moved closer to the battle, the smell of smoke and the cries of battle drawing my on-

Suddenly the memories burst into my mind as if a dam had broken; my hands flew to my head as a wave of pain moved from my temple. But I remembered! I remembered!-

The hiding in the thicket, the _silent_ movements-

The anticipation and the _thrill_-

and then the _gurgling_ scream-

and then the snow and the _blood_-

and then the man lying there, _dying_ there-

he _wasn't_ scared-

no but he didn't _want_ to die-

his sweet, sweet, _sweet_ blood-

the _green-but-brown-but-but-hazel_ eyes looking up in horrified awe-

the _spilling_ of my blood-

that last _burning_ kiss on his blood lips-

_**Hal.**_

"Hal!" I whispered into the frantic air. He must have woken! Alone and lost-

And dangerous.

I had unleashed an untrained monster on the world with no understanding of what he was and the dangers of his existence. And it was my fault.

Shit.

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><p>Reviews would completely make my day, please feel free to give your opinions good or bad. XD<p>

Cannot wait for tonight's episode! my computers stopped being such a pain but I'm on the edge of a rather tricky history assessment so I might not be updating till at least next week.


	4. A Monster Fit to be a Lord

AN: looking over many things in being human I am a tad confused to the real definition of a vampire. They seam to eat real food and drink coffee and tea, ECT. They also seam to breath and bleed as if they had a heart.

So I've decided to take things into my own hands a bit and say that vampires do:

1) Breathe, have a heart beet and have the ability to heal at a fast rate (at a slower rate if not drinking blood but still faster than a human.)

2) Enjoy and eat human food but don't need it to survive. However, vampires who are abstaining from blood will eat food. Vampires are also seen smoking and getting drunk so I think that vampire can be affected by drugs but will not suffer from addiction or possible injuries cause by drugs.

Bit of a weak chapter if I do say so myself, very short… but it does have a familiar face thrown in for good measure.

**EDIT: im having a bit of a shake up because I realised ive been an idiot and moved stuff into the story to quickly without a proper plan… so im re-writing the last couple of characters and getting back onto a solid plot.**

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><p><span>Hal: 1545-46?<span>

Everything had a surreal feel to it now that I couldn't ignore or really understand, I felt like a ghost moving only with the purpose of finding. Of killing. A part of me had become disgusted after sating my thirst but it was soon washed away as the pangs of the hunger gnawed at my bones and my blood until I had to hunt.

I swept careful through the Lithuanian country side and down further south, no direction to my wonderings but to simply satisfy my need for movement.

I had discovered over the past years weeks what I was and what I could do. My physical strength, eyesight, hearing and sense of smell had grown in strength after waking up and I could run for hours without stopping if I chose. It was exhilarating.

At the same time, the sun burned at my skin and a gnawing hunger always settled over me only hours or days after killing and drinking the blood of others. For a few bleak days I had been unable to find someone and the hunger had risen to an uncomfortable burning pain that stretched and grew to unimaginable proportions with every second. I had broken the fast when I had stumbled across a beggar alone in the woods. I had killed him without hesitation or warning.

I no longer knew how many had died beneath my teeth, begging and screaming and finally falling silent. I had lost count. I kept waiting for the disgust of the guilt that I had seen wreck fellow soldiers but it never came.

Because I loved it.

The power that come with killing for no cause but the selfish need to feed and kill had left me giddy and grinning not sickened as I would have been. I felt like a king, ruling over humanity; the weaker dull prey of the world that should, and would fall by my hand, by my smile and by my teeth. The only person to escape so far had been a young woman who had conjured a crucifix from under her clothes and brandished it at me. The holy cross had driven me back and I had fled from the area in fear that she would raise a mob to chase me.

I had only met one other of my kind, a young man on the edge of a village we were both about to plunder for a meal. Casual words had been exchanged and we had feasted together before passing our separate ways. He had shown me a few useful tricks after learning that I did not know my maker and gave me a strange warning about werewolf blood.

Soft snow currently crunched under my feet into solid and unmoving ice, the air was so cold it hurt to breathe and if I was human I would have suffered, I knew. I walked through what I thought to be either southern Livonia or far northern Poland, maybe Prussia? I had no measurement of how far I had travelled.

The forest that surrounded the road I travelled no longer held any fear for me, for what could be more fearsome than myself? I walked in a simple pair of trousers and tunic, over which hung a heavy coat I had taken of a man before I killed him. My feet were covered with soft leather boots with a thick furry lining.

I thought from time to time of the mysterious woman. Alena? Was it? I could barely remember the moments before my death only her name and… the kiss. That burning kiss.

Scouring the battle field had lead to no clues as to her whereabouts and I had given up and moved on after killing a few stragglers that remained to pickpocket my fellow dead.

What could have made her abandon me to this strange new life? I could remember the promise she made, to be there by my side as I woke but she had vanished without a trace. I felt a bubbling anger at the injustice of it all. She had given me a life beyond death and didn't even have the decency to welcome me into it!

A scowl pulled at my face at the idea and low rumbling growl build in my chest as I thought of the damned woman. I was so caught up in my own musings I failed to realise I wasn't alone.

His scent wafted over to my way amidst the brittle tang of snow and my mouth watered at the fresh scent of a dying bleeding man. A low groan sounded from the woods nearby and I sunk into a low stalking crouch.

The man lay in the ditch with blood pouring from a heavy stab wound in his belly. His clothes however were surprisingly fine, he must have been a landowner or someone import. But even important people will die.

He was without a coat and boots, probably meaning he had been mugged for his clothes and recently too otherwise he would have frozen to death already.

The man had a mop of brown hair and chilly blue eyes which roamed over the forest; he hadn't seen me yet. I stepped into the light and crouched down by his side, silently observing while he choked and gasped. The air he breathed ghosted and clouded above him.

"Help, please." He murmured, his eyes roamed over me, losing and gaining focus.

"Of course." I replied without really thinking. Though I would, in a way, be helping by putting the rich man out his misery.

I closed my eyes and let the blood lust sweep across me until I could feel my eyes turning black and I could feel my throat burning and I could feel the anticipation of the kill burning and singing in my veins. Instincts controlled me and I surrendered to the simplicity of it all.

Move.

Bite.

Drink.

_Breathe._

Rich full blood touched my lips as I chomped down on his neck and I gulped down his blood eagerly as I felt the burn in my body fade and sooth away. The ache of hunger was soon replaced by a buzzing soaring feeling that was beyond words, beyond feeling. In these moments I felt like god, no I was better than god, higher than the high. I was a lord above men, a monster fit to be king.

He writhed and tried to scream but suddenly stopped. His hand scrabbled at his side for a moment and I nearly stopped feeding to look at what he was doing.

The steel dagger bit into my skin at my temple as he made a wild swing for my face. I recoiled back in surprise, blood poured freely down the side of my face, I looked down at the man and I saw a weak smile on his face, he nearly chuckled but a pained expression covered his face and he groaned in agony. I hissed in anger and irritation at his weak smile and I saw fear flash across his eyes as he saw my eyes and the fangs.

The slash on my face was already knitting itself back together when a wild thought suddenly flashed to my mind as I remembered by own struggle for life nearly thirty years ago, was it? I could barely remember. The way he had laughed at me had made me stop and consider my own death; the way I had laughed at the irony of dying a hero's death for something I didn't believe in.

What if I made this man into something like me?

What would happen?

I wouldn't know untill I found out.

I dragged a hand over side of the wound and along my jaw line where the blood and pooled and dripped not a moment before. I collected the blood in the cupped palm of my hand and turned to face the man, I was about to pour the blood on his closed blue lips when I froze with thought. I needed to ask him.

He was a minute away from death I could see it; I could almost feel the cold that had crept through my own limbs so long ago.

"Do you want to live a little longer? As a monster like me?" I asked him, his blood still staining lips.

He looked me straight in the eyes, no look of disgust or anger on his face but merely confusion. The man coughed, and gasped in pain. He tried to speak but I had destroyed his vocal cords, his mouth gaped open and closed in way that reminded me of a fish. He frantically nodded is head yes.

I grinned in response and poured my blood down his throat.

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><p>I waited in forest next to his still body for nearly three hours. I spent most of that time scraping the blood of my face with handfuls of clean white snow. Right now he would be living through nightmares that make the world feel like paradise, I turned my mind way from those dreams and focused on him instead.<p>

He had soft brown hair that would have fallen to his ears and light dark stubble that covered most of his chin. A sharp angular face held an aristocratic nature that probably run in his blood (though I could not taste the difference) and his fine clothes fitted him with precision, their gold thread and fine embroidery set him up as some kind of noble maybe. I did not know.

His hand twitched suddenly and my head turned to the side to watch him so quickly that it snapped, I winced and turned to look at him completely.

The man groaned and stretched his arms up as if he just woken up from a leisurely nap. He yawned and sat up, I watched him blink a few times and his eyes flicked black for the quickest of moments. The man turned to face me.

"What's your name?" I asked quickly, breaking the silence.

"Lord Fergus." He said in the tone of someone who demanded respect from the title alone, "I have a house nearby." He added suddenly. "You?"

"You can call my Lord Hal." I said with a smirk, the mans pompous nature would hopefully wane with his bloodlust.

"So, what exactly am I now? _Lord Hal._" Fergus asked as he ran a hand across his newly healed neck where twin pinpricks still scared his neck.

"What do you think you are?" I replied just as quickly.

"Hungry." He grinned at me, the first grin that had been directed my way in nearly thirty years. "I have a house nearby; feel like dinner?"

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><p>AN: your opinions in the form of review would be absolutely lovely. I'm going to have very limited time to update due to my GCSE revision and that fact im enjoying the rare sunny British weather xD Writing in the sunlight xD<p>

Negative or positive reviews would be wonderful xD


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